


The Shape of Our Days Neverending

by anonymousAlchemist, marywhale



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Embedded Images, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, an ordinary day in the lives of magical icon and celebrity Taako(TM) and the Literal Grim Reaper, they're very much in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-04-08 02:07:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14094696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousAlchemist/pseuds/anonymousAlchemist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/marywhale/pseuds/marywhale
Summary: After the epilogue, Taako and Kravitz have a really good day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> anonymousAlchemist: So, Taakitz?  
> marywhale: _YES_

In the soft, slow hours of the morning, in the darkness of their bedroom, Kravitz revels in being warm. Even after two years, the sensation is new and wonderful — a change from centuries spent in a bone-deep cold he had never noticed. He’s warm from the down duvet, from Taako lying immovable on his chest, and from _inside_ too — his heart inexplicably beating out a slow rhythm he sometimes finds his fingers tapping in absent moments, his body automatically keeping time to the tempo of his pulse.

When they first began spending the night together, Kravitz would sometimes lie beside Taako and watch him sleep. He hadn’t yet admitted that he couldn’t remember _how_ to sleep, and Taako hadn’t yet flicked his ear and told him to try _closing his eyes_ instead of staring like a stalker all night. Taako hadn’t yet charmed and cajolled heckled him into being a _person_ again. Kravitz would watch Taako sleep and he’d marvel at the steady rise and fall of his chest, at the unconscious flick of his pointed ears and the heat of his breath against Kravitz’s skin.

It was utterly baffling to Kravitz, then, that he should have this.

Sometimes he wakes up like this, with Taako draped over him, and he can’t help watching him still, even though he knows if Taako catches him at it, he’ll be teased mercilessly. Sometimes the fact that all this is real hits him anew.

Honestly, the likelihood of being caught is pretty small. Taako may be an elf, but he’s a heavy sleeper, and reluctant to wake unless he gets one of his night terrors.

Kravitz reaches up to tuck a strand of Taako’s hair behind his ear and Taako shifts on top of him, blinking awake. Taako smiles as he does, only half-conscious as he looks from under heavy eyelids at Kravitz, and then he glances at the clock sitting on their bedside table and makes a grunt of disapproval.

“No,” he says, turning and pressing his face against Kravitz’s chest.

Kravitz can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him, even though it earns him a sleepy glare. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Sorry.”

“Watchin’ me sleep. Creeper.” Taako burrows deeper under the blankets. “Fuck, Krav. S’only seven.”

Kravitz’s job means he doesn’t keep regular hours. He comes and goes when his goddess calls and Taako’s mortal sleep schedule doesn’t change that. But Kravitz made a deal on Lup and Barry’s behalf, and in doing so engineered himself days off — a luxury he hasn’t known in his millenia working for the Raven Queen.

To be fair, days off were a luxury he hadn’t _wanted_ before now.

“You don’t have to get up,” Kravitz says, and kisses Taako’s forehead. “I’ll put coffee on and do some work.”

Taako groans and tightens his grip as Kravitz tries to pull away. “No. It’s cold and it’s _dark_ out there, bones. S’not even morning.”

“The clock says it’s seven.” Kravitz presses a kiss to Taako’s eyebrow, his temple, his stubbornly closed eyelids.

“Clock’s wrong,” Taako grumbles.

“Clock’s not wrong unless you changed it, because _I_ certainly didn’t,” Kravitz says, and peels Taako off of him, ignoring the whine he gets in return. Taako’s already half asleep again anyway, despite the protests and clinging. “I’m only going to the living room.”

“I _know_. M’not _worried_.”

“I didn’t think you were.” Kravitz brushes his fingers through Taako’s hair again.

Taako’s eyes open, just a sliver, and although it’s clear he’s still fighting consciousness, he’s more awake than before. “I’m _sleepin’_ here.”

Kravitz hums in acknowledgement. “I’m not trying to stop you.”

Taako snorts against Kravitz’s pajama-clad chest. “Are too.”

Maybe he is, a little. Watching Taako sleep is nice. Convincing Taako to get up with him so they have more time to spend together during the day is better. “Are not.”

Taako shoves him, gently. “Fine,” he says, face scrunching up as he squeezes his eyes shut. “You get up. Taako’s good in here.”

Taako says this, but he makes absolutely no move to shift off Kravitz. If anything, he clings tighter, stubborn even as a feigned half-sleep slips into something real and Taako’s breathing evens out again, his expression going soft and open.

Kravitz watches for several long minutes before he works himself up to actually easing out from under Taako and getting out of bed. As soon as he’s up, Taako shifts into the warm spot he left behind.

Outside the cocoon of blankets, the room is, as Taako predicted, cold. Kravitz resists the temptation to crawl back into bed. They’ll spend all day there if he doesn’t give Taako an incentive to leave it.

If Taako was still awake, he’d complain about Kravitz doing things like making sure he’s properly tucked in under the duvet. He’d pull Kravitz back down onto the bed and give him a reason not to get up — or at least not to be out of bed — but he’s unconscious so it’s easy for Kravitz to tug the sheets a little higher and press a kiss to his temple.

He moves around the room quietly, changing from his pajamas into casual weekend wear since it’s his day off — trousers, a grey button-up, and a thick black cardigan. When he leaves, he makes sure the bedroom door is open, just a crack, so Taako will hear Kravitz moving around when he finally wakes.

It’s truthfully still pretty dark out, but sunrise is starting to break over the horizon and the skylight in the ceiling of their penthouse apartment offers a clear view of the gradiented morning sky. Unlike the clear vastness of the horizon, the massive space — part living room, part kitchen — that makes up most of their apartment is a cluttered mess.

Or, well, the kitchen at least is spotless because Taako is a professional, but outside of the domain Taako considers _his_ , it’s a warzone — magazines, books, notes, and clothing everywhere. Kravitz should probably tidy, but that would mean cleaning up _his_ papers, sprawled across the coffee table and stacked on top of the piano. Kravitz knows where everything is right now. If he cleans, all his paperwork will be out of order.

Besides, _life_ is messy. It’s strange and wonderful and chaotic — uncontrollable, but Kravitz finds he doesn’t mind. Life surprises him in little ways, over and over. Distracts him from paperwork. Encourages him to pick up habits he shed centuries ago, along with his humanity.

Life is good.

Kravitz turns on the coffee pot that Taako sets up every night before bed and begins his morning rounds, checking the plants that litter their apartment. The plants are gifts from Merle, and even if Taako doesn’t seem to notice them, Kravitz is _determined_ to keep them alive.

They inadvertently killed the first three because Kravitz assumed Taako was taking care of them — Merle had given _Taako_ , specifically, the plants — but Taako was aggressively uninterested in babying ficuses. Kravitz put himself in charge from plant number four onwards, and now they have nine plants dotting their home. Nine plants that need care and watering and different amounts of sun exposure. Nurturing them, these tiny living things that rely on him and the occasional unspeakable visit from Merle, has become his morning routine.

It’s calming. Domestic in a way Kravitz’s never _been_ before — another consequence of meeting Taako and getting pulled into his baffling, extraordinary orbit, of Taako choosing _him_ , of all people, to make a home with.

Taako wakes up because something is burning. Eggs. Which means Kravitz is probably scorching the shit out of one of his good pans. So even though it’s only _nine_ and Taako would love to sleep in, he drags himself out of bed and grabs his fluffy teal robe on his way to the kitchen.

“Hey, Krav? You ruining my non-stick skillet, homeboy?” Taako tugs on the robe as he moves out into the kitchen in his sleep shorts and the MUST LOVE DOGS t-shirt he stole from Magnus. He squints at the love of his life, standing beside the stove with a sheepish expression on his handsome face, definitely in the process of ruining Taako’s pan.

Taako raises an eyebrow. ”Thought we agreed you wouldn’t cook without me.”

“I was making you breakfast in bed.” Kravitz says, because he’s a disaster when it comes to most real people things, but he’s a considerate, kind-hearted, _loving_ disaster. Kravitz looks despairingly down at the unsalvageable, burnt, weirdly crispy contents of the pan. “There’s coffee.”

Taako pats Kravitz’s arm in consolation on the way to the coffee pot. He pours himself a cup and loads it up with sugar. “Toss your egg mess and let’s start again, my dude. First, the heat is up _way_ too fucking high. What was that supposed to be?”

“An omelette,” Kravitz admits, which is… cute, but Taakos’s a _professional chef_ and he has no desire to eat a bad omelette, not even a bad omelette made with love. Even with _Taako_ ’s hypothetically expert instructions, walking Kravitz through making one, he doubts Kravitz could make something passable.

He loves the dude and all, but you don’t try to fly before you can fucking walk.

“I’m feeling like french toast,” Taako says. “Let’s do french toast.”

Kravitz dumps the burned eggs in the bin and starts wiping out the pan. “You don’t trust me to make an omelette.”

“Nope,” Taako says, breezing past Kravitz to get the cream out of the fridge. “You’re fucking lucky I trust you with this. An _omelette_. Sure. Let’s skip the frying pan all together and just toss you straight into the fire. You’re already dead. You know, half the restaurants in Neverwinter make wannabe chefs interview with an omelette, and here you —”

Kravitz cuts him off with a kiss, his lips curled into a half smile against Taako’s.

“I get it,” Kravitz says. “Love you too.” He pressed another kiss to Taako’s forehead as he pulls away, looking at him expectantly. Kravitz is real tactile sometimes. “So. French toast.”

“Right. Uh, french toast.”

They’ve got eggs and cream and cinnamon and leftover french bread. _Real_ maple syrup because Taako’s rich as _balls_ now and hell yeah he’s gonna get the _good_ shit.

Taako dollops some of the cream into his coffee, then hands it to Kravitz. He hops up to sit on the kitchen island. “I’ll walk you through it, but you’re doing the work. Cha’boy’s got nothing to prove.”

“I assumed you’d rather watch than work,” Kravitz agrees, a hint of a smirk on his face.

“Ex _cuse_ me?” Taako conjures mage hand, groping Kravitz without shifting from his perch on the counter. He pinches Kravitz’s butt and hides his grin with his mug when Kravitz makes a squeaky sound in response that’s half laughter, half protest. “What happened to the dude who was making me eggs?”

“He got told to make you french toast instead,” Kravitz says, and leans in for another kiss as he walks by Taako to get a dish for the custard mixture.

When Taako and Lup were on the road, way back when they were kids, he dreamed about having a big house with a massive kitchen. The kind of kitchen chefs dreamed about — all stainless steel and granite, hardwood floors and coordinated cookware, with a good floorplan and an industrial dishwasher. After the Day of Story and Song, once all the dust had settled, Taako had bought his dream house — a massive fuck-off mansion on the top of a hill with a fountain _and_ a pool. Two pools. It had beautifully manicured gardens and a big iron gate that he’s transmuted himself to have a giant golden “T” at the centre. It had a large kitchen made of granite and steel with mahogany cabinets even Magnus admitted were pretty fucking swanky.

It was everything Taako’s ever wanted. And he _hated_ it. Hated the long, drafty hallways that echoed no matter how many carpets he laid down. He hated the way it always felt _empty_ , even when he invited all of the I.P.R.E. and most of the Bureau for dinner. The way he never ran out of room, even when he tried to overfill the place.

Taako hated feeling like he was haunting his own damn house. The kitchen — his _dream_ kitchen — was the worst fucking part — too big, too cold, too impersonal. He and Kravitz stayed for a month and a half before Taako threw his hands up in defeat and admitted that he didn’t like it, that he wasn’t comfortable, that he couldn’t wait to get the _fuck_ out of the place.

Kravitz had just laughed and kissed him and told him he’d be happy no matter where they lived, as long as they were together, and that he didn’t really like the mansion either.

Taako told him that was gay, and they started looking for a new place the next morning.

The apartment is a fifth of the size of their old mansion. If pressed, Taako would admit that he adores it.

When they first moved in, the apartment had looked like something out of a magazine. It was open and light and airy in a way the mansion wasn’t. The kitchen had quartz countertops and simple cabinets, an apron sink and gas range and oven. The appliances were still stainless steel, but in the smaller space, with the living room _right there_ and a big island where people could watch Taako cook, all the steel didn’t seem so cold.

It only took a week of living in the apartment for it to stop feeling like a showroom and start feeling like home. Merle brought them plants for Kravitz to try to keep alive. Kravitz’s ghost death murder paperwork and Taako’s brand contracts and school reports took over the coffee table. Piles of mingled clothing colonized every square available inch of flat surface. They bought a daybed for the spare room, and if _maybe_ Angus sleeps there sometimes, that means nothing. Neither does the collection of Caleb Cleveland novels that Taako just happened to pick up and leave on the bookcase next to the daybed. It’s fine. They don’t need to talk about it, and if sometimes Taako makes breakfast for three rather than two, well.

The apartment is smaller and cozier and messier than Taako wanted. It reminds him of his room on the Starblaster, the one he shared with Lup. This isn’t at all how he pictured his future, but even as a wildly dreaming kid he never dreamt up Kravitz and Kravitz is a pretty good consolation prize. Makes up for the lack of mansion.

“Alright,” Kravitz says, when he has the appropriate dishes and ingredients laid out on the counter. Taako’s drilled a healthy appreciation of a proper _mise en place_ in Kravitz. “Walk me through this, love.”

“Two eggs and half a cup of cream.” Taako curls both hands around his coffee cup and resists the urge to slide off the counter and take over. Kravitz isn’t gonna learn if Taako keeping cooking for him, and also he’d probably object. Kravitz’s insistence on _doing things_ for Taako is one of his best features. “Toss in a pinch of salt and teaspoon of cinnamon, then whisk it all together. Be better if we had challah, but I didn’t know we were doing brunch.”

“I’ll warn you the next time I try and surprise you with breakfast in bed.” Kravitz’s voice is dry as he reaches for the cream, measuring where Taako would have eyeballed it. He’s slow but precise, and Taako probably shouldn’t find it as charming as he does. He _knows_ Kravitz. They’ve been together plenty long enough. He’s seen the deliberate way Kravitz moves around the kitchen when he’s trying to impress.

Kravitz turns back to Taako, when he’s whisked the custard together. “Now I soak the bread?”

“Mmhmm. Slice it thick. Don’t want it disintegrating in the bowl. And make sure it’s _even_ or it won’t cook properly.”

Kravitz grabs the bread knife and his brow furrows in concentration as he cuts slow, even slices from the stale loaf of french bread, _ever_ so careful about it.

He’s a fucking nerd. Taako raises his mug to his lips to hide the smile on his face. “Turn the heat to medium-low,” he says. “Or you’re going to burn the outside before the inside’s cooked through and also _ruin my fucking pan_. You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Kravitz dips the bread into the egg mixture and flashes Taako a grin on his way to switch on the stove. “Very lucky,” he agrees. “It’s one of the things you and my Queen have in common — liking pretty things. I wouldn’t have met you if I wasn’t.”

Taako snorts. “Babe, comparing me to your mom counteracts every sweet thing you just said.”

“Not my mom,” Kravitz says, in the tone of a man who knows he lost this particular argument long ago. “What’s my next step?”

Taako turns the soaking bread with mage hand before it can get too soggy and nods toward the butter dish on the counter. “Butter in the pan. Swirl it to coat once it start to melt. Then you’re gonna cook these bad boys until they’re golden brown. Easy peasy. If you burn fucking _toast_ I’m leaving you.”

Kravitz laughs and levitates the dish over to the stove so he can lay the bread down in the skillet. “I better do a good job then.”

“I’m here to supervise. You can’t fuck up too bad.” Taako gets up off his stool so he can keep a closer eye on what Kravitz is doing, looping his arms around Kravitz’s waist and hooking his chin over Kravitz’s shoulder. If Taako has to stand ever so _slightly_ on his toes to do so, Kravitz is smart enough not to comment.

Kravitz tries to move to grab a spatula from the stand beside the sink and Taako stays right the fuck where he is. Kravitz laughs, and Taako can feel the rumble of it reverberate through his own chest, even with his plush robe and Kravitz’s ridiculously put together weekend outfit between them. “Taako, do you _want_ the toast to burn? I need a spatula.”

“Sounds like a you problem, homie.” Taako turns his face into Kravitz’s neck, pressing a kiss to cool skin. “Taako’s good right here.”

“Love, please. I already burned breakfast once today.”

“Better not give a repeat performance, my dude. Taako doesn’t joke about wasting food. Got my lawyer on speed dial, _darling._ ”

Kravitz wiggles in his grasp, but he’s not trying very hard to escape and Taako’s vision might be all dark skin and sharp jawline right now, but he’s a _chef_. He’s got an innate instinct for when shit’s about to burn and they’re good.

Kravitz wiggles again. “Taako.”

Taako takes the opportunity to snake his fingers between the buttons of Kravitz’s shirt to touch his stomach, grinning when he feels the hitch in Kravitz’s breath. It’s good to know he’s still distracting. Taako presses another kiss to his neck and Kravitz makes a low, pleased sound that’s promptly countered by another half-hearted attempt at escape.

“Taako, the _toast_ ,” Kravitz says, half-fond, half-exasperated.

Taako laughs against Kravitz’s skin. “Hey babe? Pretty sure you’ve got magic.”

Kravitz goes still. “Fuck,” he says, and Taako lets out a gleeful cackle as Kravitz levitates the spatula over just in time for him to flip the toast.

The crust on the first side is perfect, natch. Any recipe Taako touches even _tangentially_ is going to be great. The kitchen smells like cinnamon and custard and Taako’s actually pretty hungry, now that breakfast is almost done. He pulls his hand out from under Kravitz’s shirt and kisses his clothed shoulder as he steps back and takes a seat at the island, actually using a stool this time.

Kravitz having the day one-hundo percent really truly off is nice. They’re not going to be interrupted by a surprise cult or a soul that needs extra guidance to the astral plane. They have dinner plans — with Lup and Barry — but other than that the day is theirs. Part of Taako wants to stay in, be lazy. Make excuses to Lup about why he can’t provide his promised contribution to dinner. Strip Kravitz out of his cardigan and shirt. But it’s the weekend and they live in Neverwinter and there’s a whole city out there for them to explore — stores to grace with their presence. Taako could use something new.

“Gotta get groceries for Lup and Barry’s tonight,” he says, watching Kravitz grab plates and cutlery for them as the toast finishes up cooking. “Lu wants me to do dessert. M’thinking pie.”

Kravitz glances over his shoulder at Taako. “Farmer’s market?”

“Yeah, we should have time. I was thinking… maybe shopping too? First?” Shopping with Lup is good, but shopping with Kravitz is _great_. Shopping with Kravitz means Taako gets to play dress up with his clotheshorse of a man and yeah, okay, Kravitz is old-fashioned and tied to his suits, but he looks _good_ in them, and honestly Taako has no objections to his boyfriend being fancy as fuck.

Kravitz plates the french toast and carries both servings over to the island for Taako’s inspection. “That sounds lovely. You know I never turn down a shopping trip.”

Taako takes the bigger piece of toast and then has to pull Kravitz down into a kiss because of his handsome face and ridiculous insistence on trying to be a _real person_ and the way he takes care of Taako in little, unthinking ways are sometimes too much to bear. He has to touch Kravitz to make sure he’s real and solid and _here_.

“Good boy,” Taako says, patting Kravitz’s cheek and then pushing him away. “Get the maple syrup, bones. Let’s see if your cooking gets the Taako’s Amazing School of Magic seal of approval.”

Kravitz steals one last kiss before pulling away to fetch the syrup. Taako watches the easy, familiar way he moves around their kitchen as he slices off a corner of the toast and pops it into his mouth. It’s perfect — faintly cinnamon-scented, caramelized on the outside, soft in the middle — the product of Taako’s excellent instruction.

“Mm, solid seven out of ten,” he says, when Kravitz returns, and revels in the way Kravitz chuckles in response and shrugs off the slight. “Good effort, but we can do better.”

“I’ll take it,” Kravitz says, shrugging as he takes a seat beside Taako. “I’ve got lots of time to improve my grade.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Kravitz doesn’t need to buy clothes. His physical form is a construct, crafted from magic and the memory of his appearance during life — an approximation of the mortal he once was. He can banish and summon clothing at will, can change his hair with a wave of his hand — which Taako complains about, as if he isn’t the most powerful transmutation wizard in several planar systems. Kravitz has control of every aspect of how he presents himself in the material plane, right down to his preferred jewelry. He doesn’t _need_ to buy clothes, but he likes to. 

Kravitz loves suits, the tailoring and precise lines. He loves the weight and heft of worsted wool and the sheen of cashmere. Finds satisfaction in the symmetry of the half-inch of cuff that shows beneath his jacket sleeves. Loves the feel of a waistcoat, wrapped around his chest, perfect fitted to his body. The idea that suits aren’t comfortable is _ludicrous_ to him. His tastes and style have adapted to suit the times, but his love for well-tailored fashion has remained the same throughout his many centuries of existence. 

Before Taako, Kravitz conjured and adjusted his clothing based on his whims and the occasion. Now, he has an entire closet at his disposal. Multiple suits to choose from, shirts and ties and pocket squares and sweaters. His wardrobe is smaller than Taako’s, but it _exists_ and that’s a marvel all its own.

As with sleep and food and most other pleasurable things in life, Taako is the one who reintroduced Kravitz to shopping. When they have the time and inclination, it’s one of their favourite things to do together.

As promised by the morning’s sunrise, it’s a nice day. The air is crisp with the last dregs of winter, but spring has arrived in Neverwinter. The sun is bright and the sky is blue and the streets are bustling. It’s the perfect day to fight their way through the farmer’s market at the center of the city’s shopping district, but _shopping_ -shopping first means they’re taking their time — walking to the market instead of opening a rift or teleporting. 

Kravitz loves the feeling of the warm sun on his skin, loves letting Taako lead him around by the arm. It’s casual and — although it’s not something he’d say to _Taako_ , who has historically objected to the term — pleasantly domestic. Even when he was alive, Kravitz didn’t have anything like this. Although to be fair, when he was alive _dating_ didn’t really exist as a concept.

Things have changed for the better.

“Hey.” Taako tugs Kravitz to a stop. “What would I need to do to get you in that?” Taako asks, lifting the enormous heart-shaped sunglasses he considers a passable disguise and pointing to a suit on display in a shop window. It’s purple, paired with a lilac checked shirt and a navy floral tie. The overall look isn’t terrible, as far as purple suits go, but it’s nothing Kravitz would ever wear.

It is, honestly, very Taako.

Kravitz eyes the suit for a moment, then looks down at his boyfriend, hanging off his arm with a mischievous look on his glamoured face. He raises an eyebrow. “A lot.”

Taako thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs. “I can do a lot,” he says, and drags Kravitz into the store.

Inside, the shop is all shiny white surfaces and silver accents — trendy and minimalist and not at all the kind of place Kravitz or Taako prefer. Kravitz _almost_ fits in, in his trousers and shirt and cardigan, but Taako’s wearing his oversized hat, a drapey silk blouse, and black jeans covered in crystals. He sticks out like a sore thumb.

The clerk takes one look at Taako and immediately sees through his half-hearted disguise.

“Mr. Taako! Welcome!” the clerk says, loud enough to catch the attention of the other customers in the store. The kind of self-consciously cool people who _actually_ shop here are likely to consider themselves above rushing Taako for an autograph, which is lucky, but Kravitz bets they’ll linger to see if they can engineer a conversation. “Are you looking for anything in particular today?”

Kravitz doesn’t miss that everyone else in the store seems to be expected to find things on their own, and he bets Taako doesn’t either, but Taako takes the offer in stride.

“As a matter of fact, homeslice, I am.” Taako pats Kravitz’s chest. “I wanna get my man into that get up you’ve got in the window. The purple suit.”

“Taako,” Kravitz says, because there’s no _way_ he’s buying a purple suit. Not even for Taako.

“I just wanna see.” Taako glances at him, a hint of a smile on his face. “You’ll be rewarded for good behaviour.”

Comments like _that_ are going to do nothing to stem the tide of speculation in the tabloid press that Kravitz is Taako’s sugarbaby, but Kravitz also doesn’t really care what the tabloid press says about him. Sometimes it’s just easier to go along with Taako on these things than to fight it. And he _does_ look pleased with himself.

Kravitz sighs and turns to the sales clerk, smiling. “The purple suit, please.”

“Of course,” says the clerk, and leads them to the rack holding both the jacket and the trousers. “Would you like to see the shirt and tie as well? I can set you up with a dressing room and bring them to you if you know your size…?”

Suggesting that Kravitz doesn’t know his measurements is, frankly, ludicrous. The majority of Kravitz’s wardrobe is bespoke, not off the rack. He may only have recently started wearing non-conjured clothing again, but that doesn’t mean he lacks standards. Kravitz pointedly removes the appropriate jacket and trousers from the rack and turns to Taako. “Do you need the whole look?”

“Nah,” Taako says. “This’ll do. You’re already in a button-up. I’ll get the picture. Show us to your nicest room, my dude.”

The clerk leads them to the back of the store and a series of dressing rooms separated from the rest of the shop by floor-to-ceiling canvas curtains. He pulls back one of the curtains with a flourish and gestures them inside. “Our best room.” 

Kravitz is fairly certain the rooms are standardized, but there’s a faux-wood bench for Taako to sit on and plenty of room for Kravitz to move around and admire himself in the mirrored walls, so it’ll do.

“We offer in-house tailoring if you want any adjustments made,” the clerk says. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to it. If you need anything —”

“Yeah, sure. We’ll shout.” Taako pulls Kravitz into the room and tugs the curtain shut in the clerk’s face, then turns to look at Kravitz. “Purple works nicely with your skin tone, bones. Why are you fighting this?”

“Purple’s more your colour than mine, darling,” Kravitz says. “We both know I’m not going to buy this.”

“Nobody said anything about buying.” Taako waves a dismissive hand. “Just gimme a little show.”

Kravitz raises an eyebrow at Taako, even as he shrugs off his cardigan. They’re already in the dressing room. He picked up the suit. Taako’s already won. “What do I get out of this?”

“The pleasure of making me happy.” Taako means it as a joke, but honestly he’s not wrong about what motivates Kravitz. Making Taako happy is one of his favourite activities, one of the things he prides himself at being _good_ at, now.

Taako must read the thought on his face because he fakes gagging, dropping down onto the bench. “ _Gross_. Krav, come on. You make deals for a living. You can do better than that.”

“A living?” Kravitz repeats, grinning at Taako as he undoes his belt and trousers and steps out of his shoes.

“You’re the _worst_.”

Kravitz laughs and pulls on the awful purple trousers and the terrible purple jacket. Not that they’re _bad,_ in and of themselves — the fabric is a lightweight wool and the suit is cut slim and modern to match the colour — but they’re certainly not Kravitz’s style. He adjusts his cuffs, fastens the single button on the front of the jacket, and turns to Taako with a single eyebrow raised.

He can see himself, in the mirrored wall behind Taako, and he looks _ridiculous_. Kravitz didn’t wear this much colour even when he was _alive_ , before he _really_ committed to the Raven Queen’s aesthetic. Taako, for his part, looks both pleased and amused by the result.

“Well, hello stranger,” Taako says, taking off his hat and sunglasses and setting them down on the bench. He gets to his feet and crosses the space between them, reaching out to play with the jacket’s button. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen my boyfriend around here, have you? Tall, dark and handsome? Little bit chilly? Kind of goth?”

Kravitz laughs and leans in to kiss Taako, tugging him closer. “You asked for this,” he says. “You _did_ this to me.”

“Mm, I could do a lot more to you for being such a good boy.” Taako’s hands slide down Kravitz’s chest, over soft purple wool.

Kravitz has spent enough time with Taako to know when teasing is heading somewhere. Somewhere it probably _shouldn’t_ be heading when all that separates them from a shop full of people is a curtain. “Taako.”

“That’s my name.” Taako opens the jacket and slides his hands inside, over Kravitz’s chest.

“ _Taako_ ,” he says again, more firmly.

In response, Taako smirks up at him and drops to his knees, which would be a lot sexier if it weren’t immediately followed by Taako wincing and grabbing one of them with a scowl. “Fuck!”

“Are you all right?” Kravitz goes to kneel too, but Taako stops him with a hand on his stomach.

“I’m fine,” he says. “All good. These fucking _jewels_ tried to take my knee out though.”

Kravitz can’t help the chuckle that bubbles out of him, even though it earns him a glare. “Sorry, love,” he says. “Maybe that’s a sign you shouldn’t —” Kravitz is cut off abruptly when Taako reaches out and grabs him through the purple trousers, suddenly much, _much_ more interested in this game.

“That’s what I thought,” Taako says, undoing the trousers Kravitz only just put on and unbuttoning the bottom of his shirt. “It’s fine. You just gotta be _quiet_ about it.”

“This is not fine,” Kravitz says, but even to his own ears he doesn’t sound very convincing and Taako _knows_ him. Taako knows how incredibly easy it is to coax him into being up for pretty much anything. Taako is inventive and playful and loving and also he looks _very_ good on his knees.

Taako presses a kiss to Kravitz’s stomach, tugging his trousers and underwear down around his thighs, looking up at him from under his lashes. Kravitz’s breath catches in his throat. The look is carefully calculated to devastate him. It’s strategic on Taako’s part, meant to quell any last shred of resistance Kravitz might have. Kravitz can’t help the fondness that blossoms in his chest because Taako doing everything he can to get his own way is — sweet. It’s sweet that _this_ is what Taako is after. Making Kravitz fall apart for him. 

Kravitz leans back against the mirror. There’s no use pretending he isn’t invested in this happening anymore. “Taako.” 

Taako kisses his hip, humming against his skin, and Kravitz buries a hand in Taako’s hair, eyes slipping shut. One of Taako’s hand wraps around his dick and Kravitz _wants_ this — wants _Taako_ — badly.

He arches into his touch, forcing himself to open his eyes, to look down at Taako on his knees in front of him. “Taako, _please_.”

Taako looks up at him, flushed with excitement and gratifyingly eager. Kravitz can see it in his eyes and the tilt of his ears, perked up to attention.

Eager, but still Taako. “Mm, can I get a _pretty_ please?”

Kravitz laughs, despite himself, and strokes one of Taako’s ears, watching him lean into the touch. “Don’t push your luck.”

“You’re the one about to get a blow job here, thug. Not me.”

Kravitz laughs again, but the sound catches in his throat as Taako takes him into his mouth.

Kravitz is centuries old. He’s watched the world for a thousand years, has seen civilizations fall and great men come and go. And never, in all that time, has he met someone like Taako. This ridiculous, snarky, _lovely_ elf who looked Death in the eye and asked him on a date. Kravitz is utterly lost to the way he feels for Taako, to this love that could be his ruin, but instead saves him over and over again. 

Taako has seen civilizations fall too. More times than Kravitz. He’s seen worlds laid to waste again and again, ran from death and destruction for a hundred years and still — _still_ he is bright and sharp and wonderful. Still he is terrible and funny and loving and Kravitz _adores_ him. Kravitz cannot imagine his existence without Taako, now that they’ve found each other.

Every day Kravitz wakes up in their apartment, with the piano Taako bought him, with the room that isn’t Angus’s, with the bright kitchen that is Taako’s domain — every day this is his, Kravitz grows more full from it, becomes more _alive_. 

This love redeems him, even as it undoes him — even as _Taako_ undoes him, with his clever fingers and his warm, wet mouth. Kravitz is probably being too loud and too obvious, but Taako keeps moving, keeps _sucking_ , and Kravitz lets himself fall apart because he trusts that Taako will always be there to put him back together.

He comes, and Taako pulls away, ruffled and self-satisfied as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “We are _definitely_ going to have to buy the suit after that performance,” he says, standing and pressing himself against Kravitz’s chest, kissing him sloppily.

Kravitz catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind Taako, as he wraps his arms around him and holds him close. His trousers are around his knees and his shirt and jacket are a mess. He looks wrecked. 

“Please tell me you silenced the room.”

Taako snorts, burying his nose in Kravitz’s hair. “What do you take me for, an amatuer?” he asks. “I’m not trying to get us arrested.”

Kravitz hums doubtfully, mostly to make Taako squawk and pinch his side in retaliation. He kisses Taako’s shoulder, hands sliding down to rest on his bum. “Can I…?”

Taako pulls back and makes a face. “I wish. Can’t be _too_ obvious about the fact that I was sucking your dick in here, bubelah. Get dressed and I’ll do autographs.” He straightens out his hair and clothes in the mirror, then grabs his sunglasses and hat on the way out. “And _do_ bring the suit. I’ll resize it for me. That’s absolutely cha’boy’s colour.”


	3. Chapter 3

There's nothing neat about the way that the farmer’s market stalls are arranged, each piled with produce, small-batch artisan goods, handicrafts. It's a nice day, if cold, and it seems like half of Neverwinter is out and about. Hipsters with dogs trailing after them, families with babies in strollers. Taako's not crazy about crowds, but walking around, picking up stuff and inspecting it — this is alright. 

Taako likes farmer’s markets. Seems like every plane has their equivalent — Cavenaugh's open-air forums, Tesseralia's public malls, their home planet's caravan-markets that set up shop in parks and town squares. 

Whenever their caravan stopped someplace _civilized_ , Lup and him would go meandering. Sometimes an aunt or an uncle would pass them a couple of coins to spend, other times Taako'd play distraction as Lup snuck a bag of fruit tossed with sugar and spice, battered and fried cookies, a couple of sweet griddle-pastries with molten sugar centers. 

He hasn't had those in _ages._ Maybe he'll make them next time Lup comes over. They don't exist in Faerun – he bets Kravitz would like them. 

Taako sneaks a glance at Kravitz, who is contemplating the buying and selling, the sampling, the people chatting with naked curiosity. He glances back and forth as if the business of life is still a foreign country. His collared shirt and neat trousers look out of place. Kravitz himself doesn't. 

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Taako quips. "It's the same shit as last week, my man." 

Kravitz startles and smiles at Taako. "Sorry. It's still rather novel, being part of things, rather than, er—" 

"— bustin' in and bustin' perps?" Taako arches a brow. 

Kravitz snorts, chuckles ruefully. He twines their fingers together and Taako briefly savors the warmth. "You could say that," Kravitz says. "This is better, though. It's...domestic? I think that’s the right word." 

"Yeah, well, cha'boy only brings you to carry things," Taako says, thrown off balance by Kravitz's abrupt sincerity. He swears Kravitz does it on purpose to fuck with him. "Deffo just a practical thing." 

Taako knows he's a shit liar. His ears give him away every time, and judging by the indulgent smirk on Kravitz's face, Kravitz sees through him like so much glass. 

"Oh, let's just go buy some fucking fruit," Taako says, and pulls Kravitz along after him into the crowd. 

Neverwinter's farmer's market is one of the largest Taako's been to. The awnings are set up adjacent to the city park, taking up two or three blocks. The nearby shops and restaurants do a brisk business on market days. They’re mostly local places — this neighborhood's been verging on gentrification for years now. 

Taako used to daydream about opening up a restaurant here, for when he got tired of the _Sizzle It Up With Taako!_ media circuit. Don’t get him wrong, he loved the show. But he knows what audiences are like — there’s always the next shiny thing on the horizon. A restaurant, though. He could have swung that. Do some branding, set it up real fancy. Draw the crowds in with his name, then wow them with his food. Eventually it would have been its own thing entirely, not a novelty attached to a travelling show.

That's another elf's dream though, Taako thinks as he winds expertly between a half-orc bargaining for honey and a clueless tiefling whose bike is taking up half the street. Those were the daydreams of a half-bit chef with a penchant for magic tricks, not an arcanist who saved the world, like, a _zillion_ times. 

But right now, Taako's just a guy shopping with his boyfriend. At the moment his dreams revolve more around how nice it is to be with someone who never complains about having to hold his bags, and how nice it would be if he could just _find the fucking plums._ Taako peers over the tops of his heart shaped sunglasses to try and figure out where exactly they’re hiding. A few people glance at him, but they look away quickly, sometimes whispering to their companions. 

Neverwinter's got a lot of famous folk. It's considered _gauche_ to accost a celebrity in the street, and locals pride themselves on paying no mind to them. Sure, Taako gets stopped for an autograph every once in a while, but mostly he's free to look around without being accosted. Too bad. Taako enjoys being accosted. 

Today, people are more interested in the tables hawking homemade muffins than in his presence. A shame. He stands on his tiptoes to peer down the street. Mostly crafts and baked goods and the sorta knick-knacks that tourists nut over. The layout of the market changes every week, which makes finding specific items a challenge. Sometimes Taako longs for the neat rows of Fantasy Costco. 

"Keep an eye peeled for plums, hotshot. Cha'boy ain't seeing any, but they're in season and I don't wanna burn the spell slots if I don't hafta." 

"You burn spell slots when you're too lazy to walk across the living room," Kravitz says mildly. "I saw you do it last night." 

"You don't get to talk, mister 'I forget I can do magic,'" Taako teases, and is rewarded by Kravitz's soft laughter. "Okay, but no, seriously – where the _fuck_ is the fruit?" 

There's always something a little strange about transmuted produce – everything organic has a distinct genetic makeup. Transmuted fruit tastes... generic. There are products for which that doesn't matter. Flour is okay. Milk, if you're using it in baking. Sugar, always. But plums for a rosemary-plum pie? That shit better be _fresh._

Sure, if you're making dinner for a show, or for people who won't notice the difference, transmuted food doesn’t matter. But they're going over to Lup's, and Taako refuses to put anything but his best culinary foot forward. 

Taako and Kravitz wander, walking from stall to stall, gradually making their way across the market. They try samples of jam — Taako mutters that his is better — and debate buying the artisanal soap enchanted to play music while being used. A perfectly normal afternoon. At first, nothing seems amiss, but as they cross the market, Taako notices Kravitz worrying at his bottom lip — a habit he picked up a few months after dating Taako. His eyes scanning the crowd. He puts a protective palm on the small of Taako’s back. 

"What's eating you, my man?" Taako asks, casually. Kravitz leans over as if to drop a fond kiss to Taako’s cheek and breathes, “Don’t look now, but I think we’re being _followed._ ” He presses closer. 

“Exciting,” Taako says, consciously keeping his ears from perking up, placing a casual hand on his hip holster where he keeps his wand. 

Kravitz nods. “At your four, they’ve been following us for the past ten minutes.” 

Taako casts arcane eye surreptitiously, sending the little translucent purple globe spinning above the crowd. Four o’clock: A boy in a hand-me-down cloak and beginner’s wizard hat, behind whom huddle a girl in sequins and another kid in all black — a fashion statement, or a rogue-in-training? They can’t be more than sixteen at _most_ and they’re creeping from stall to stall, trying to stay out of Taako’s peripheral vision. Taako’s hand drops from his holster, and he hipchecks Kravitz playfully. 

“They’re teens! Can’t believe you got all worked up about _teens_ ,” Taako says gleefully. “Hey brats!” He spins on his heel and points theatrically at the baby wizard. “You there! Kiddo! Nice _deception roll_.” 

The teens freeze. Taako saunters through the now-parted crowd, pulling Kravitz along after him. Up close, the kids can’t be more than Ango’s age, give or take a couple years. 

“So you kids hopin’ for an autograph, or you paps-in-training, or what?” he asks, enjoying the way they look at him both like he’s a grenade and a gift they can’t believe is real. Ah, _children_. 

“W-we didn’t mean to _bother_ you,” Baby-wizard stutters. “W-we just thought you looked like—” 

"Um, excuse me, but you’re _Taako_ , right _?_ " Sparkly-girl cuts in with a charming, obviously-practiced smile. 

Taako smiles his best smile right back at her and her friends. Game recognizes game. Sparkly-girl looks like she's maybe going to pass out. Emo-kid looks unimpressed. Baby-wizard looks fascinated and incredibly fucking nervous, tugging at his braver friend’s sleeve. 

"One-and-only, that's me," Taako says. "You make a habit of following celebs around or what?" 

“Only the ones Finch is _obsessed_ with,” Emo-kid deadpans. 

The baby-wizard—presumably Finch—slaps Emo-kid. “Jin!” he hisses. Emo-kid — Jin, presumably — rolls their eyes and elbows Finch. The two of them look like they’re gearing up for a good-old-fashioned slap fight when Sparkly-girl pushes her way between them with a practiced jab to each of their stomachs and sticks out a hand — but not to Taako. 

She beams up at Kravitz instead, who is staring at her with bemusement and just a hint of fear. "Nice-to-meet-you, I’m Alberta, areyouTaako'sboyfriend?" she says, all in a rush. 

Kravitz glances at Taako, who grins and nods. “Yes,” Kravitz says. “I’m, um, Kravitz?” 

“Are you also a wizard?—Are you also an alien?—How'd you guys meet?” the kids ask, speaking over each over in a tumble of words. 

Taako takes a deep breath. "Well, first, he tried to murder me," he says gravely. "And then I told him I was gonna turn his ass into hentai."

"Taako!" Kravitz exclaims, looking betrayed. 

"What?" Taako exclaims. "They're like," he squints at the teens. "Iunno, they're big kids they've heard of hentai. _Angus_ knows what hentai is and he’s a fetus. Right? Actually, uh, don't answer that, Taako doesn't need to know these things about his fans. Deffo not his teen fans. Y'all are like _babies._ " 

They’re watching Taako like he’s a particularly charming exotic bird. 

“He tried to _murder_ you?” Finch gasps. 

Aw, they’re eating this up. Taako nods solemnly. “Had me by the throat.”

“You had a _bounty_ on your head! I was just doing my _job!_ ”

The teens are gratifyingly wide-eyed. 

“He tried to turn one of my best friends, this guy who’s like my _dad_ , to _stone._ ”

“ _He had a bounty on him! You all had bounties!_ ”

Jin is starting to look skeptical. Better wrap this one up quick. “And then I tangled him up in Evard’s black tentacles and that’s how we first met,” Taako finishes, triumphant. Finch and Alberta seem satisfyingly awed. Then Kravitz lets go of Taako’s hand. Taako grasps air and wonders if he’s taken the goof too far, but a moment later, Kravitz’s palm is cupped against the curve of Taako’s jaw, tilting him up to meet Kravitz’s eyes. 

His eyes are lovely. His smile is wicked. 

“Oh no,” Taako says. “Oh no, what are you doing.”

“You’re forgetting the part where I fell in love with you,” Kravitz practically purrs. “You looked at me, and you were so _brave_.” 

“Hachi machi, _stop,_ ” Taako says weakly, making a token effort to pull away from Kravitz, who only smiles wider and refuses to remove his hand. 

“Why?” he says. “Don’t you want to give them the _complete picture_? How I saw you, and my first thought was that you had the _most beautiful smile_ , even when I was supposed to take you in?” 

“I’m dead. I’m dying. You’re killed me,” Taako says. “I hope you’re happy, you finished what you started. You’re making these innocent teens witness a murder.” 

“I think it’s romantic,” Finch says. Jin is grinning like a cat that got the cream. Alberta sighs, starry-eyed again. 

Kravitz moves his hand up the side of Taako’s face and Taako would very much like to lean into his soft palm except that would be _giving up._ “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a millenium.” Kravitz seals the final nail in the coffin with a kiss to Taako’s forehead, and Taako thinks that he’s maybe going to actually physically decease right then, his boyfriend is the worst sort of sap – his boyfriend _weaponizes_ his sappiness. 

“Fuck you,” Taako mutters, aware that if he wasn’t wearing a glamour, his face would be beet-red. 

“Love you too,” Kravitz murmurs smugly back, and Taako pushes him away. 

“Enough! You win!” he groans, and turns to the teens and narrows his eyes. They look at him with inquisitive eyes. Taako claps his hands together. "Okay teens, so… you saw none of this. None! And if anyone asks who you were talking to, my name is, uh, my name is… Root Beer Surge! Alright, you little hellions?" 

They nod gamely. 

"And this is..." Taako looks Kravitz up and down with narrowed eyes. "Sprite Pepsi. Alright? You saw nothing. Boyfriend? What boyfriend. And if you even _breathe_ a word of what you just saw, I will decimate your fantasy butts. I will _sue you into oblivion,_ and you will _rue the day_ you crossed _Taako._ " 

The teens giggle. Kravitz looks an entire second from unfiltered laughter. Taako can hear the smile on his own voice. Oh, what the hell. He’ll give them a show. “Cool. Cool cool cool. Alright! Taako _out!_ ” 

When he says ‘out,’ Taako grabs Kravitz’s hand and casts teleport on both of them, adding in a showy puff of glittering violent smoke. He’s gotta have the _panache._ Taako’s got spell-slots to spare, anyway. The last thing he hears before disappearing is the teens gasping. 

They re-materialize on the other side of the market, amongst — as luck would have it — mountains of fresh fruit. The salespeople at the stalls look _absolutely_ unimpressed. Kravitz is laughing, and changes their handclasp to more of a _entwining._

“I meant it,” Kravitz says, all earnest, a little mischievous. “Every word.” 

“Oh, put a sock in it, bone-boy,” Taako says, and pulls Kravitz over to the lady with the plums, who smiles as they approach. “Hey, whatcha got over here? We’re makin’ pie. Well, I’m makin’ pie, so we need a nice variety for that.” 

The lady nods and picks up a plum from the stack before beginning her shpiel. "Honey-royal plums. Sweet as sugar, delivered express from the Gladesong Orchards by portal so they’re fresh as can be." The lady slices into the purple skin and cuts a neat crescent of yellow flesh. She holds out the piece to Taako. "Holds up great in baking. Go on, try it." 

Taako takes the slice delicately. He bites it in half. It’s sweet, a little tart – sour skin and syrupy juice. He holds the other half out to Kravitz, who pulls Taako’s hand to his mouth instead of taking the piece of fruit with his fingers. His lips brush Taako's fingers. His eyes never leave Taako’s mouth. 

Taako swallows dryly. “Whatcha think?” he says, a little roughly. “Three pounds, leave us a half-pound for eatin’?” 

“Sounds good.” Kravitz licks the juice from his lips. Taako swears Kravitz is doing this on purpose. Maybe this is revenge for the dressing room. 

The lady at the till claps her hands. "Great! I’ll package that right up for you — that'll be twenty-four gold, please! I'm charging you ten gold extra for using my fruit as foreplay," she says cheerfully, and the only thing Taako can do is crack up. 

He coughs up the cash — worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this story, please leave a comment and kudos! ❤
> 
> As always, you can find us both on tumblr [@anonymousAlchemist](http://anonymousalchemist.tumblr.com) and [@marywhal](http://marywhal.tumblr.com)!


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as they get home Taako is all business, throwing his robe on the couch and rolling up his sleeves, motioning for Kravitz to put the plums on the kitchen counter. As he sets the bag on the counter, a few fruit spill out, rolling for freedom. He catches them before they can escape and hands them to Taako, who peers at the skin for imperfections. 

“Not bad,” he says, setting the plums aside and and opening the fridge. He pulls out butter and snaps his fingers to set it to shredding over a bowl. 

“Can I help with anything?” Kravitz asks. 

Taako gestures vaguely, attention split. “Grab me the flour?”

Kravitz opens the pantry and pulls out the bag. He sets it on the counter next to Taako, who nods thanks and says, “Go put on some music or somethin’, stop being distracting, pie crust is _delicate_.” It’s not unaffectionate, but still a clear dismissal punctuated by a warm half-smile and a flick of Taako’s fingers. 

Kravitz smiles back. “Any requests?” 

“What, I gotta make all your decisions for you? You’ve got free will, my man.” 

Kravitz tucks a lock of hair behind Taako’s ear. “Well, alright then.” 

He dusts his hands off, a little puff of flour escaping. One of the things that he’s learned is that unless Taako’s teaching or doing a demo, he hates sharing the kitchen. Surprisingly enough, he’s not really one for talking while cooking either, which seemed strange at first considering Taako’s celebrity past. Taako hadn’t explained it either, but familiarity breeds understanding — Kravitz has watched Taako cook enough to see him working without all the fancy flourishes, the showmanship, the pops of sparkling magic that obscure what he’s actually doing. Taako in the kitchen at home is focused. Not trying to impress. 

Walking into the living room, Kravitz hesitates by the teetering stack of records next to the gramophone. They’re his, mostly — whatever catches Kravitz’s fancy. Music changes so quickly. There are genres and subgenres that he doesn’t recognize, that he listens to in record shops and _needs_ to take home. There’s some of Taako’s stuff, too — alien records from alien worlds, in languages that he can’t understand and styles he doesn’t recognize. It’s fascinating, really. Kravitz has overseen Faerun for _millennia,_ and he had thought that he’d heard everything under the sun. Just goes to show that there are other suns. 

Still, nothing really catches his eye as he flicks through the pile. 

Well. Taako did say that Kravitz should make his own decisions, and he decides he’s going to put on some live music.

When they moved in together, Taako had bought Kravitz a grand piano. He hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t mentioned wanting one beforehand — the piano just showed up in the mansion one day, and Taako pretended that he had nothing to do with it. Kravitz had mentioned that he used to play piano just the weekend before. That for a while, before he wanted to be a conductor, Kravitz had wanted to be a concert pianist. 

“I figured you might wanna pick it up again or something,” Taako admitted that night, when they were spooned together in bed. “We can always return it. Or keep it so we can look _classy_. S’not like we’re hurting for cash.” He said that last part with wonder — still surprised to be wealthy. 

Kravitz had pressed a kiss to the back of Taako’s neck. “Thank you,” he said. “I — yes, I’d like to pick it up again.” He’d realized it was true as the words left his mouth. It’d been a long time since he played music. “That was very thoughtful of you.” 

“Whatever, bone boy,” Taako said, and rolled over to kiss Kravitz properly. 

Kravitz hadn’t realized how much he’d missed playing until he started again. It wasn’t like he meant to stop. There was just no reason to continue. It was something from life, and he was not alive. It was easy for him to fold music away with the rest of his past until Taako started prying that door again with his clever fingers. 

The piano was one of the only things they brought with them to the new apartment. It’s far too large for the space, shoved in the corner of the living room, but Kravitz _likes_ it. 

He sits down at the bench. Cracks his knuckles — a habit he’s never broken — and puts his fingers on the keys. Presses down. Sound fills the living room, reverberates through the kitchen. Taako perks his head up from where he’s measuring flour. Kravitz glances over and smiles, then starts playing chopsticks, just to make Taako laugh. It’s gratifying that he does — Kravitz lives for moments when he can surprise his boyfriend, pun _very_ much intended. 

“Play something _real_ ,” Taako calls. 

“Chopsticks is real!” Kravitz protests. He shifts obligingly into something that isn’t a kindergarten warm-up. Remembrance is strange. It’s been _centuries_ since he’s played some of these songs, but the muscle memory remains — how to coax every last bit of emotion from the keys, when to press, when to hold, the placement of his fingers. As if it was yesterday. 

He wonders... hm. He closes his eyes. Thinks back. Plays something old. 

It was the first song he was allowed to pick for himself for a concert. He learned it when he was young. He doesn't remember his exact age — sometime in his teens. Back then, the styles were different, the shape of the world a foreign landscape, and still, children were made to take piano lessons. 

Kravitz stuck with it though, all through his childhood, his adolescence, right up until the moment his heart stopped beating. When he was young, he thought he was going to be a bard, a pianist, a conductor. Instead, Kravitz died, and now he sits here and it’s a miracle that he knows where to place his hands. 

This isn’t the same body he was born with. He has _no_ idea how his fingers remember how to play, but he’s not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Lately, this piece has been on his mind. It reminds him of Taako. Not so much in content — its a sad song, an elegy, something for a funeral, but it’s about remembrance. Contemplation. The music changes, grows more complex, almost confusing. Kravitz’s current state of existence is the strangest it’s been in millenia. Taako is a harbinger of change, Taako himself a puzzle-box of personality. 

Taako’s different now than when they first met. There’s consequences to having your life rewritten, Kravitz supposes, and now he knows that most of what Taako told him about his childhood, growing up, the unspoken loneliness, isn’t true. Not to mention the whole century of heroics excised out of his brain. The man he sleeps next to these nights has layers. 

Kravitz likes it. He likes Taako in all his incarnations, but he seems happier now, more secure in his own skin. It’s strange, Kravitz thinks, hand crossing over his hand to play a particularly difficult bridge, to have so much of your happiness tied to someone else’s. 

“Whatcha playin’?” Taako says, a sudden weight on his shoulders, a hand around his waist. Taako’s other hand deposits a tray on the edge of the piano where it balances precariously. 

“Elegy number three, by, um, I forget, actually,” Kravitz admits. “I learned it a long time ago.” 

“An elegy, huh? Morbid boy,” Taako says affectionately. “Guess you’ve always been like this, yeah?” 

“Kind of,” Kravitz says, thinking about the vague remembrance he has of being young. He wore a lot of black.

“Dork,” Taako says. “Anyway, stop the music, maestro. I made lunch.” 

“I thought you were making pie crust?” 

“Shit’s gotta _rest_. Haven’t you ever baked before?” Taako says. He picks up a half-sandwich from the plate, angling around Kravitz’s neck, and pushes it up against Kravitz’s mouth. 

Kravitz makes a soft noise of protest and raises his hand to take the sandwich from Taako. He licks his lips. Sweet, sour. He takes a bite. Bread, meat, cheese, all overlaid with the tang of the vinegar. 

“This is really good,” he says. “What’s in it?” 

“Prosciutto, mozzarella, balsamic vinegar,” Taako says, picking up the other half of the sandwich and taking a bite. “Keepin’ it simple,” he says, voice muffled by chewing. 

Kravitz hums and takes another bite, looking at the tray. Sandwiches, and a plate of sliced plums from the market. Taako’s notched little bunny ears into their peels. Kravitz pops a slice into his mouth. 

“Bunny ears?” 

“They taste better that way,” Taako says. “Don’t gimme that look. S’like cutting sandwiches into triangles, you know?” 

“If you say so,” Kravitz says, because part of being in a relationship is letting your partner have his illusions. Taako nudges Kravitz, who moves over so Taako can sit down next to him. “We’re getting crumbs on the piano.” 

“That’s what prestidigitation is for,” Taako says, spilling more crumbs on their piano. Kravitz snorts. 

“What?” Taako says, indignantly. “What’s the point of bein’ a wizard if you can’t solve all your problems with magic?” He takes another bite of his sandwich. Kravitz doesn’t actually have a comeback for that. 

They eat in companionable silence for a few moments. The plums are sweet, the sandwich is tasty, and while Kravitz doesn’t technically need to eat, Taako has a habit of making meals for both of them. 

The first time Kravitz stayed the night — back when Taako was living on the moonbase, before they were even calling this a relationship — Taako made breakfast the next morning. Kravitz hadn’t slept but hadn’t wanted to disturb Taako, who spent the night curled up against Kravitz’s chest, clinging to him like an elven octopus. When morning rolled around — really, early afternoon — Taako blinked awake, untangled himself, and dragged Kravitz to the kitchen. 

“You know, I don’t, er, this body is a construct. I don’t _have_ to eat,” Kravitz had tried to explain. “You don’t have to—” 

“Yeah, well cha’boy wants pancakes,” Taako said. “Hey, get some coffee started, will ya? It’s easy enough that _Mags_ can do it, bet your skeletal ass can figure it out too.” 

“That’s not what you said about my ass last night,” Kravitz said, and Taako had arched an eyebrow and laughed. Really, if you wanted to explain their relationship in a nutshell, that wonderful first morning was it — the same pattern still playing out into this sunlit afternoon. 

“Thank you for lunch,” Kravitz says. “Even if you _are_ getting crumbs all over my piano.” 

“Who bought you that piano!” Taako says, indignant. “That’s _my_ piano.” 

“I’m the one who plays it,” Kravitz says. “Our piano?” 

“Fine, sure, whatever,” Taako dismisses the conversation with a wave of his hand. “Hey, when you’re done eating, come help me with the pie filling. Ain’t no freeloaders in this household.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do we have a recipe for this pie? You bet we do! Marywhale has a post up on her blog walking you through the [recipe for Taako's plum and rosemary pie.](http://marywhal.tumblr.com/post/172976648914/taakos-plum-and-rosemary-pie)
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, please leave a comment and kudos! ❤
> 
> As always, you can find us both on tumblr [@anonymousAlchemist](http://anonymousalchemist.tumblr.com) and [@marywhal](http://marywhal.tumblr.com)!


	5. Chapter 5

Taako lets himself into Lup and Barry’s house without any fanfare. Why wouldn’t he? He’s at their place more afternoons than not. When they bought their house, Lup tossed Taako a key and said “so you’re staying with us until you get your own place, right?” and Taako had said “oh, yeah, huh, I guess, yeah?” He’d been struck, then, by the memory of an old game they used to play on the Starblaster called “What the fuck are we going to do after defeating Johnny Vore.” 

They would sit in the kitchen when they couldn’t sleep and talk about _after_ — after they defeated the Hunger, after they went home, after the mission was over. The nebulous future woven out of thin air in the quiet kitchen, the kettle whistling in the background, him and Lup and whoever else couldn’t sleep, talking softly. It wasn’t a daytime game. 

Lup and Barry were _so horny_ for domesticity — no surprise that they bought a house as soon as everything calmed down. He stayed with them for two months. It was interesting living with them, something both familiar and utterly strange. 

Him, sleeping in Barry and Lup’s guest room — a guest room in the sense that Angus’s room is a guest room. Magnus sleeping on the couch more days than not. Merle, popping in every couple of days and working in the garden, bringing his kids by — it’s doubly weird now, thinking about Merle with _kids_ , that Magnus of all people was _married._ It was strange not to live with them any more. It was strange not to be living with everyone, strange to be rebuilding a world instead of just warning of its destruction, strange to get postcards from Cap’nport and news briefs about Lucretia. And Taako himself, busy with the school, letting Ren run him ragged in meetings, going on dates with Kravitz. Just weird all around. 

Not like anything in his life’s been normal, Taako thinks wryly as he cracks open the door. “Hey! I’m back, I brought pie and your boss,” he calls into the house, kicking off his shoes. 

“Taako,” Kravitz says, voice just so very extremely longsuffering. 

“What?” Taako grins up at Kravitz and pats him on the shoulder patronizingly. Kravitz can’t respond because his hands are filled with the pie box, so he settles for giving Taako a long, disappointed look which only makes Taako smile wider. 

“ _Please_ stop calling your boyfriend that,” Lup says, sweeping into the foyer and giving Taako a hug — which he returns enthusiastically — and then Kravitz, who suffers it awkwardly around the pie box, still not used to casual physical contact from anyone who isn’t Taako. “Ooh, what flavor?” 

“What? I’m right, he’s your _boss,_ ” Taako says, all mock indignant, “And rosemary-plum. What, no thank you? I spent, I spent _literal hours._ ” 

“ _I’m_ the one who made dinner. Well, is making dinner,” Lup says, sticking her tongue out and taking the pie from Kravitz. “Well actually, Barry’s sorta making dinner right now,” Lup waves a hand vaguely at the kitchen. 

“You let Barold in the kitchen?!” Taako yelps. He drops his cloak and runs over, tripping over his shoes, calling over his shoulder as Lup laughs, “Are you out of your mind?!” 

He runs down the short hallway to the kitchen, which smells great but could soon be the site of some great disaster. Barry is sitting at the kitchen table reading a newspaper and twirling a finger in the air. On the stove, held by a mage hand that mimics Barry’s movement, a wooden spoon stirs risotto in a saucepan. He looks up and smiles wryly. 

“Hi Taako,” Barry says. “I can handle stirring.” 

“No you can’t,” Taako says, but makes no move to take the wooden spoon. Barry can handle stirring. Taako collapses into a chair next to him and leans over his shoulder at the newspaper. “What’s the haps?” 

Barry straightens out the page in lieu of answering. Taako leans further over Barry to read it. 

The cover story is a retrospective on reconstruction. It’s a feature puff-piece, a status update and a pat-on-the-back to everyone who helped with rebuilding. There’s a really great quarter-spread of the Starblaster hovering over some backwater town, Magnus caught mid-crate-throw, someone on the ground levitating them out of his hands.

“Jeez, old photo,” Taako says. “That’s you levitating the crates, yeah?” 

“How can you tell?” 

Taako rolls his eyes. “Auras, duh.” He traces the outline of the box, the faint black halo that surrounds it. “And you call yourself a _wizard._ ” 

Barry squints at the newspaper. “Huh, you’re right. Yeah. That’s me. Think this was a month or so after ess-en-ess,” he says. “You and Lup were helping Merle with his bar.” 

“Right,” Taako says. The months after the Day were kind of a blur of activity. Nobody was sleeping very much. Turns out that after the world gets saved, you kind of still have to live there, and if you’ve got a rocket ship, you’re dead-useful for rebuilding. 

Barry turns the page and glances over Taako’s shoulder as if he expects to see someone else there. “Where’s the other half?” 

“Eurgh. Don’t call him that. Over there,” he gestures to the gently lit living room, Lup and Kravitz talking as Lup pours wine into a glass. He looks back at Barry. “Had to make sure you weren’t screwing up things up foodwise, kemosabe.” 

“You left your boyfriend to Lup’s tender mercies?” Barry asks, turning back to Taako

Taako waves a hand languidly. “He’s a big boy. He’ll be fine.” 

Their conversation is interrupted by a splash. Barry and Taako both glance over at the living room, and the glance turns to an outright stare, because Kravitz is standing like a drowned cat, dripping with red wine staining the front of his shirt. Lup’s face hides barely concealed glee. 

“Well. Maybe not,” Taako amends. 

Barry’s shaking with suppressed laughter. “What’s so funny?” Taako asks. 

“Well, aha, Lup’s been dying to get Kravitz out of his suit for _weeks,_ ” Barry says, still laughing. 

Taako makes a mock- theatrical expression of disgust at his statement. “That’s my _sister_ ,” he gasps. “And my _boyfriend!_ That’s your _wife!_ ” 

“Not like, haha, not like _that_ ,” Barry says, says, waving his hand frantically. “Gods, not like that. It’s, like, uh, well, it’s been driving her nuts, that every time she sees him, that he’s wearing like. A full suit.” 

Taako wrinkles his nose. Sure, Kravitz dresses formally. He always looks good, though, so there’s no problem. He likes his collars and cuffs, and yeah, he considers a button-up and black slacks to be “casual,” but if that’s the biggest flaw in his boyfriend, Taako will take it. “Yeah, my boy likes suits, what’s the problem?” 

Barry shrugs. “Don’t look at me, it’s _her_ pet peeve, not mine.” He pauses. “I think she just thinks he doesn’t look comfortable.” 

Lup is theatrically pulling Kravitz out of the living room, without giving the man a chance to say no. 

“Lup’s weird,” Taako says thoughtfully, and ignores Barry’s incredulous expression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short and sweet chapter this week! If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment and kudos to let us know <3
> 
> You can find us both on tumblr [@anonymousAlchemist](http://anonymousalchemist.tumblr.com) and [@marywhal](http://marywhal.tumblr.com). We are always happy to interact with you.


	6. Chapter 6

When Taako runs to the kitchen to help Barry with dinner, there’s a small part of Kravitz still inclined towards panic. Things between him and Lup have certainly gotten _easier_ in the two years since they saved the world, but it’s still — Taako’s right, when he calls Kravitz Lup and Barry’s boss, and everytime Taako brings it up Kravitz goes right back to not knowing how to interact as Taako’s _boyfriend_.

Which Taako finds hilarious, obviously. That’s why Taako inflicts it on him.

Lup takes the pie from him and nods towards the living room. “Come on, skeletor. I’ll get you a drink,” she says. “You live with my brother. I don’t know how you’re still letting him ruffle your feathers.”

Kravitz rolls his eyes, gesturing for Lup to lead the way. “I feel like you should have to pick one or the other — make the skeleton jokes or the bird jokes, but you can’t do _both_.”

Lup considers this for a moment, then shrugs. “Nah,” she says. “I’m gonna do both.”

“Of course you are,” Kravitz says. He didn’t really expect her to pick a side, but it’s always nice to try.

Lup mage hands the pie into the kitchen, where Barry and Taako are chatting over a newspaper. Lup doesn’t both asking Kravitz’s preference before grabbing a bottle of red and wiggling out the cork. “Enjoy the day off, boss?”

“ _Please_ ,” Kravitz says. “But yes, it was nice. We did some shopping, went to the farmer’s market.” He glances at Taako in the kitchen again, smiling. “It was a good day.”

Lup turns to face him, holding two glasses of wine, and gives him a critical once over. “You went to the farmer’s market in a _suit_?”

“What? No, I changed for dinner,” Kravitz says defensively, reaching up to smooth down the lapels on his jacket. Taako had half-heartedly tried to convince him to wear the purple suit to dinner. Kravitz had abso _lutely_ refused and gone for a slim-cut black number with a single button instead. Casual. “Does it _look_ like I wore this to the farmer’s market?”

“It looks like you wore it to a funeral,” Lup says. “It looks like your accountant died and you wanted to pay your respects.” She gestures to herself as she walks over to him, wine sloshing in her glass. “Look at what I’m wearing, Kravitz. This is what you wear to family dinner.” 

Lup is in a t-shirt and jeans with colourful socks on her feet — nothing fancy.

“Now, _you_ , on the other hand —” Lup goes to gesture towards Kravitz and instead splashes the entire contents of the wineglass in her hand all over the front of his suit, hitting him square in the chest. Kravitz takes a step back, looking down at himself and feeling like he’s just been hit with magic missile.

“Whoops!” Lup says, in a dismayed voice that’s not even half-convincing. “So much for you being overdressed.”

Kravitz plucks at his sodden shirt. “Fuck,” he says. “It’s… it’s fine. No harm done.” It’s half-fine. These are _real_ clothes and he’s wearing a white shirt. A shirt that was _once_ white anyway. “I’ll pop home and change. It won’t take —”

“No!” says Lup, too quick and too loud. “Don’t you _dare_ , Kravitz. You can just borrow some clothes. Come on. Dinner’s practically done and you’ll take twenty minutes picking out another outfit.” She reaches out, grabbing his wrist. “Upstairs.”

Kravitz glances in Taako’s direction, hoping for help, but Lup is stronger than she looks and Taako doesn’t seem all that concerned that he’s being dragged from the room.

Honestly, it’s been two years. Kravitz shouldn’t be surprised by this anymore.

Lup pulls him into her and Barry’s bedroom and leaves him standing in the doorway while she makes a beeline for the dresser. “This really isn’t necessary,” Kravitz says. “It wouldn’t take me that long to change outfits and I should do something about the wine or it might stain.”

“You live with _Taako_ , Krav,” Lup says, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Transmutation genius? He can get rid of some stains.”

Kravitz shrugs off the jacket. “It’s really no trouble to —” Spare clothes hit him in the face and Kravitz nearly drops his jacket catching them. He gives Lup an unimpressed look, when he sorts out everything in his hands, then glances down at the clothing, which is — well. “Really?”

“What’s wrong, boss man?” Lup grins at him, looking like the cat who caught the canary. Like this was _planned_. “Not a fan of my hospitality?”

Kravitz holds up the black, flannel pajama pants in his hands. They’re covered with little white skulls and Lup’s paired them with a dark red henley. “ _Really?_ ”

“They’re comfy,” Lup says, sitting on the edge of her and Barry’s bed. “When’s the last time you dressed casually, Kravitz? Not _you_ -casual, normal person casual.” She waves a hand at him. “You can change in the bathroom if you’re feeling shy. Come on.”

Kravitz... has never worn clothing like this before, dead or alive. He’s never had the desire to. He wears his work clothes in the astral plane and before Taako entered his life, he never had much call for other outfits. He likes the tailoring and the comfortable familiarity of his suits. This is new and different and he’s not at all sure about it.

“I should just go home and change,” he says. “It’s kind of you to let me borrow things, but —”

Lup holds up a hand, cutting him off. “Krav. Look at the clothes in your hands and then look me in the eye and tell me you honestly believe I just happened to have those lying around.”

Kravitz shifts in place. “No,” he says, because although pajama pants covered in skulls could very much belong to either Lup or Barry, the shirt is obviously his size. Possibly it having _some_ buttons on the front was intended as a concession to his normal sense of style. “Would you also like me to point out that you intentionally spilled wine on my clothing?”

“You have _magic_ ,” Lup says. “You could prestigitate the wine away if you didn’t somehow manage to _forget_ about it when you’re not working.”

Kravitz blinks because — right. He absolutely _could_ just whisk the wine off of his clothes. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” says Lup. “I was banking on you not remembering. Babe, you know you don’t have to be _on_ with us all the time, right? We may work together, and we may have gotten off on the wrong foot with the whole lich and me trying to kill you thing, but we’re _family_. You can let your guard down around me. Barry too. We want you to be _comfortable_ here.” She gestures to the pajamas in his hands. “ _Actually_ comfortable.”

Kravitz isn’t sure how comfortable he’ll be dressed in flannel and cotton. Downstairs, Barry’s, naturally, in jeans, and Taako’s not _dressed up_ either, exactly, although his sweater and jeans are more dinner-appropriate than the pajamas in Kravitz’s hands. “Lup…”

“Will you at least _try_?” she asks, exasperated. “I promise, if you don’t like wearing something soft and cozy and loose-fitting, you can go home and get another suit, but you _must_ be uncomfortable in what you’re wearing by now.”

It’s true, he is. Kravitz’s shirt is plastered to his stomach, cold and wet against his skin. His trousers, too, are clinging to places he’d rather they not cling to while he’s standing around with his — not sister-in-law, exactly, but close.

His… family, maybe. Kravitz doesn’t feel comfortable enough to say it himself, but hearing it from Lup is — it’s good. It’s a good thing. He, Barry, and Lup haven’t always gotten along — she _did_ try to kill him, once, and she and Barry _are_ liches — but things have gotten better. They’re a _team_ at work. They know how to play to each other’s strengths, how to work together. He and Barry have _theoretical_ discussions about necromancy and Lup didn’t take long to realize that music was something they have in common and a topic less likely to lead to arguments during long stakeouts than raising the dead. 

“Alright, fine,” he says. “Just this once.”

Lup looks briefly surprised and then she’s grinning again, waving him towards the bathroom. “Hell yeah,” she says. “Get going. They should fit you.”

Kravitz has no doubt they will. Lup seems to have put an absurd amount of planning into this. He carries the clothes into the bathroom and strips off his damp, wine-soaked things. It really only does take a single cantrip to have them clean and dry, but he promised, so he pulls on the pajama pants and the shirt and they’re — soft. Warm. A little loose, but not so much so that he’s swimming in them. Just enough for comfort. It’s… surprising, actually, just _how_ comfortable they are.

Kravitz looks at himself in the mirror, dressed very thoroughly down, and feels… remarkably human. He runs a hand over the slightly fuzzy fabric of his pants, examining the skulls on them, then shakes himself out of it and leaves the room.

Lup, on the bed, blinks at him in shock. “Holy shit,” she says. “Holy _fuck_. I can’t believe I’m seeing this. I can’t believe this is a memory I get to _have_.”

Kravitz raises an eyebrow at her. “You bought me the clothes.”

“I was only, like, sixty-percent sure I’d be able to convince you to wear them.” She bounces to her feet, a pleased expression on her face. “Taako is going to lose his _mind_. You look fucking adorable.”

Kravitz shifts in places, glancing down at himself again. “I look odd.”

“Yeah,” Lup agrees. “Come on, the risotto should be finished by now.”

Lup leads the way back downstairs, a triumphant skip in her step. “Babe, I fucking _did it_!” she says, as they walk into the joint kitchen and living room, waving a hand at Kravitz. “Look how _comfortable_ he is!”

Kravitz’s comfort level drops with all the attention suddenly on him. Barry doesn’t bat an eye at the outfit change, but the expression on Taako’s face mirrors Lup’s earlier shock.

“Holy fuck,” Taako says. “You’re in _pajamas_.”

“I wear pajamas,” Kravitz says, plucking at the shirt. “You saw me in pajamas this morning.”

“You dress in pajama _sets_ like you’re fuckin’ five hundred or something,” Taako says, and holds up a hand when Kravitz opens his mouth to respond. “I _know_ you’re technically older than that, babe. Don’t at me. You know what I mean.”

“I wasn’t going to _at_ you,” Kravitz says, perfectly aware that he sounds petulant, but the look of mixed delight and discomfort that crosses Taako’s face whenever Kravitz throws his slang back at him is worth it.

“You didn’t let the risotto burn, did you?” Lup asks, pushing past Taako to peer into the pot on the stove. She tastes it and nods in approval, mage handing cheese out of the fridge. “We’re done. Let me finish this and poach some eggs and then we can eat in the living room and drink a couple bottles of wine. Barry and I had to _work_ today, unlike some people. I need a drink. I just need _someone_ to grate me some cheese.”

Taako hooks his arm through Kravitz’s, dragging him into the living room before either of them are recruited to help. He runs a hand over Kravitz’s arm in the shirt. “I can’t believe Lup convinced you to _wear_ these. You know she spilled the wine on purpose?”

“I know,” Kravitz says. “I know I could have just cleaned and dried the suit myself too, but she seemed… determined.”

“Mm, Barry says she’s been plotting for a while,” Taako says, flopping back on the couch and pulling Kravitz down with him. His hand moves to Kravitz’s thigh, rubbing the cozy material of his pants. “She’s weird. Love the skulls though. These are fuckin’ _soft_ , huh?”

Kravitz could do without Taako rubbing his thigh on Lup and Barry’s couch, but they _are_ soft and now that he’s sitting with Taako’s warm body next to him, Kravitz can really tell the difference between the clothes he’s wearing now and his usually things. He could fall asleep dressed like this, easily.

“Very soft,” he agrees, and covers Taako’s hand with his, stilling it. “Taako, we already had _one_ incident today.”

Taako’s smile takes on a wicked edge. “Incident, huh? Is _that_ what we’re calling blowjobs now?”

Barry, standing behind them, pauses as he processes Taako’s statement, then holds out the glasses of wine he’s carrying. “I’m just… gonna go back to the kitchen,” he says. “See if Lup, uh, needs more help with the cheese.”

Taako cackles as he takes the wine glasses, passing one to Kravitz and pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, likely more for Barry’s benefit than Kravitz’s. “I’m a delight,” Taako says, pulling away and glancing at Barry’s retreating back. “You’re lucky to have _incidents_ with me, bone boy.”

Kravitz takes a sip of his wine, mostly to hide the fond smile on his face. “I am,” he agreed. “But love, _please_.”

“Fine,” Taako says, and moves his hand off Kravitz’s thigh, tucking himself against Kravitz’s side instead. “But only because you look adorable right now. Lup made a mistake. There are little _skulls_ on your pajamas.”

Kravitz catches Taako’s hand when it starts heading towards his thigh again, leaning in to distract him with a kiss. “You can touch the little skulls later,” he promises. “At home.”

“And by little skulls do you mean —”

“Nope!” Barry says, leaning over the back of the couch and shoving a plate of risotto mixed with spring vegetables, topped with an egg, into Taako’s hands. “He just means the pajamas. Please stop.”

Taako smiles up at Barry, unrepentant as he takes the bowl of risotto from him. “Barold, it’s been over a hundred years,” he says. “You should know me better than that by now, my dude.”

“I live in hope,” says Barry, a faint smile on his face as he passes the second plate to Kravitz. “Lup’ll be glad to know she did a good job. She’s been plotting this for a while now.” He glances at Kravitz. “Sorry about your suit.”

“It’s all right,” Kravitz says, surprised to find that he means it. The outfit wouldn’t be his first choice, but it’s…a nice change. “I think I’ll keep these. Lup may have a point about the way I dress.”

Lup claps her hands on the other side of the room. “ _Fuck_ yeah, Lup has a point about the way you dress. Lup has all _sorts_ of ideas about our work uniforms next. Let’s talk leather, crypt-keeper. I have _thoughts_.”

Barry turns to look at Lup, laughing. “After dinner. I’m pretty sure I need more wine before you introduce Taako to the concept of Kravitz in leather.”

“ _Oh_ ,” says Taako, beside Kravitz, leaning over so he can see his sister on the other side of her husband. “Lulu, I like the way you think.”

It probably says something about Kravitz that _this_ is the family he’s made his own. That this is where he carved out a home for himself, after centuries spent living — for lack of a better term — on his own. Kravitz picks up his fork as Lup launches into an impassioned pitch for matching leather jackets instead of cowled and feathered robes, a faint smile on his face. It probably says something, not necessarily anything favourable, but it’s good to have a place where he belongs — people he can relax around. After all that time alone, Kravitz has never felt so alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please leave a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed the story! We really appreciate them.
> 
> Next week is our last chapter for this story. We hope you're enjoying it so far! We can both be found on tumblr where we're [anonymousAlchemist](http://anonymousalchemist.tumblr.com) and [marywhal](http://marywhal.tumblr.com)!


	7. Chapter 7

Taako pretends like he’s not watching Kravitz sleep as he helps Barry do the dishes, drying while Barry washes. Kravitz is passed out on the couch, slumped to the side, breathing deep and even. He looks… comfy. Cozy in the shirt and pajama pants Lup bullied him into. His dreads are splayed out behind his head and Taako wants to go over and sort them out, maybe get him a blanket or something.

It’s fucking ridiculous. This is _not_ his usual vibe.

Barry taps a plate against his arm and Taako nearly jumps out of his skin. He turns, frowning at Barry. “Hey Barold? What the fuck?”

Barry looks amused. “Not my fault you zoned out,” he says. “I think you’re good on that dish. You wanna move on to the rest?” He wiggles the plate in his hand.

Taako looks down at the, yes, thoroughly dry plate in his hands and then sets it aside and takes the next from Barry. “Don’t say a fuckin’ word.”

Barry grins. “About what? About how much you love your boyfriend and how nice it is to see you this happy? Wouldn’t dream of it, bud.”

“Okay,” Taako says, overly loud. “Okay, _none _ of that, my man.”

Barry nudges his shoulder. “I mean it, Taako. It’s good. You’re — you once told me, before I got my, uh, my shit together, with Lup, you talked to me about love and you said… you said a lotta stuff that made a lotta sense, but one of things you pointed out to me was how much we’d lost. And that hasn’t changed, you know? We’ve lost more now, if anything. We had no idea how many more years of running we had ahead of us, back then. But we’ve gained stuff too, you know? We’ve got this. A home. A life. It’s good, right? This is… good. You’ve done real well for yourself.”

Taako hates this. He makes a face. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, my man, but —”

“I mean, I dunno if I was _going _ anywhere with it, in particular, but like…” Barry shrugs, his grin going soft. “I’m proud of you, I guess.”

“Okay, we’re done here,” Taako says, and shoves the plate in his hands at Barry. “I’m gonna wake up Bones and cart him home.”

“Nah, just stay,” says Lup, from the doorway. Which means she _definitely _ heard Barry say he was _proud _ of Taako which is… great and not at all embarrassing. “You’ve got a room, T. You might as well use it. Ghost Rider doesn’t look like he’s gonna be too easy to move just now.”

Not prodding Kravitz into enabling travel-by-portal while he’s conked out does sound like the easier option to make her. “Fine,” he says. “But I want omelettes for breakfast. I’ve been craving one all day.”

Lup rolls her eyes, but nods. “I’ve got gruyere. We can do omelettes. Get your boy to bed. I’ll help Barry finish drying.”

There’s a reason Taako likes coming to his sister’s house. “Hell yeah, no more dishes.” He tosses the rag in his hands to Lup. “Night, suckers.”

Lup catches the towel, laughing. “Night, Taako.”

“Night, bud,” says Barry.

Taako walks to the couch and his sleeping boyfriend, leaning over it to prod at him. Kravitz shifts, his nose scrunching up in protest. Taako’s glad he’s got his back to Lup and Barry so they can’t see the smile on his face or watch him kiss Kravitz’s forehead. “Bones, wake up,” he says, voice low and soft. “Gotta move out of the living room if you wanna sleep, my dude.”

Kravitz grumbles, blinking up at Taako blearily. “Move?” he repeats, then wakes a little more,  glancing around Lup and Barry’s living room. Taako very much enjoys the confusion on his face. “I fell asleep?”

“This is what you get for waking up early on your day off,” Taako says, nudging Kravitz’s shoulder. “And I guess what Lup gets for dressing you in pajamas and feeding you carbs and cheese for dinner. Come on, we’re gonna sleep here. Cha’boy’s got a room.”

Kravitz nods, but doesn’t move. He looks ready to settle down again, so Taako walks around the couch and grabs his hand, tugging at him. “Seriously, babe. Don’t make me levitate you to the bedroom.”

Lup, in the kitchen, laughs, and hearing that spurs Kravitz to actually get to his feet, looking ever so slightly embarrassed. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m moving.”

“Only ‘cause I forced you.” Taako waves at Lup and Barry as he tugs Kravitz out of the living room, down the hall to their guest room. Their spare bedroom that’s _kind of _ a guest room. The room that’s his in Barry and Lup’s house, which its purple walls and gauzy curtains and overstuffed mattress. It had been a sanctuary, in the first couple months after the end of the world, before he bought himself and Kravitz the mansion or the apartment. The whole suburb thing isn’t his jam, but it looks good on Barry and Lup. They’re happy, and what more could Taako want for them?

He deposits Kravitz on the bed. “You good sleeping in what you’ve got on, thug?”

Kravitz is already tugging at the covers and getting himself under the comforter. “They’re pajamas. I’m okay,” he says, and rubs at his eyes. “I _am _ sorry I fell asleep on you.”

“No big.” Taako tugs his sweater off over his head and shucks off his jeans, then crawls onto the bed beside Kravitz. He grins, propping himself up on an elbow and reaching over to give one of Kravitz’s dreads a playful tug. “It was cute, honestly. You don’t usually fall asleep that fast.”

Kravitz makes a face. “Blame the clothes and your sister,” he says, reaching up to rubs his thumb along Taako’s cheekbone. “You’re using disguise self, aren’t you?”

Taako rolls his eyes. “Well, duh. I mean _we were outside _ today. Gotta make sure the fans see Taako Tee-Em lookin’ on point,” he says, waving a hand over his general appearance, which, yes, currently is him mostly naked on top of the covers in his sister’s guest room, but the point still stands.

Kravitz chuckles. “Do you mind taking it off? You know I —”

“Oh _darling_ , show me your _true face_ ,” Taako says, leaning in to kiss at Kravitz’s cheeks and nose, trying to make him laugh again. Kravitz means it when he says he likes how Taako looks, is the thing. He means it, but he also lets Taako decide when he feels comfortable with the glamour gone and when he doesn’t, and that makes Taako want to let it down around Kravitz. And Kravitz is almost always around.

Taako waves a hand and the glamour dissipates like fine mist. 

Kravitz smiles at him, soft and sleepy. “Hello, love.”

Taako can’t help laughing — not loud, just soft and fond — as he leans in for a proper kiss. “Hi,” he murmurs against his lips. “Why are you saying hello? You spent literally, uh, all fuckin’ day with me, nerd.”

“Mm, it was a good day,” Kravitz says, and kisses him again. “Come here. Under the covers.”

“Demanding.” Lying on top of the covers is getting chilly though, so Taako does worm his way under them. He drapes himself half on top of Kravitz and presses close, listening to the rhythm of his inexplicably beating heart.

Taako rubs his fingers against the soft cotton of Kravitz’s shirt and feels the vibrations in Kravitz’s chest when he laughs. “You don’t normally touch my clothes this much.”

“They’re not normally so fuckin’ soft,” he says. “Let that be a lesson to you, babe. If you want Taako rubbing you on the reg, you gotta dress down more.”

“Important advice. I’ll keep it in mind.” Kravitz is drifting off again. Taako can hear it in his voice. That’s fine. Taako feels very content right where he is — curled up on top of his boyfriend in bed. He casts mage hand to flick off the lights and settles down, restraining himself from petting at Kravitz’s clothing more because he doesn’t want to disturb him.

And that’s... _wild_ , honestly. That he’s holding himself back for Kravitz’s sake. Even before the whole getting his mind fucked over thing, letting the dude he was dating sleep when what  _ Taako _ wanted was to keep teasing him about how much Kravitz  _ obviously _ liked hanging out in pajamas — and maybe to see where stroking various parts of him lead — wouldn’t have occurred to him. Much easier — much more  _ fulfilling_ — to do what he wanted and let whoever he was with deal. 

Kravitz is… different though. Different from the other guys he’s dated. Kravitz is a new thing, except it’s been  _ years  _ since they got together, so Kravitz is also an old, familiar thing. And Taako loves it. Him.

Taako rests his chin on Kravitz’s chest, watching him doze. Lup and Barry aren’t around so he can smile as much as he wants, which is like… an uncomfortable amount. Taako’s happy. Taako’s happy as  _ fuck_. Taako’s not gonna let that change anytime soon.

He pokes Kravitz’s cheek to rouse him. “Babe,” he says. “Babe, wake up.”

“Why?” Kravitz’s voice is pleading, but opens his eyes anyway, squinting down at Taako. “What is it?”

Taako just keeps smiling. “Y’wanna get married?”

There’s a beat while Kravitz visibly processes the question, but he doesn’t ask if Taako is serious — doesn’t tell him off for making jokes because Kravitz  _ knows _ him. He’s familiar to Kravitz too, in all the right ways.

Kravitz smiles, tightening his grip on Taako and pulling him in close, kissing him slow and deep, with a mouth that tastes like plum and rosemary pie. “Of course,” he says. “Yes.”

“Good.” Taako pats Kravitz’s chest. “ _Very_ good. Okay, that was all. You can sleep now.”

Kravitz laughs, all low and rumbly, the way his voice always is at night when they’re curled up together. Not in a sexy way, just — intimate. Loving. Warm. “Are you sure? Nothing else you need from me?”

“Nah,” says Taako, and presses their lips together one last time. “We’ve got plenty of time to figure out the rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed the fic! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! We hope you liked Taako and Kravitz's very good day. If you did, and especially if you enjoy the image of Kravitz's pajamas, please check out [this awesome illustration of Taako and Kravitz on the couch](https://femme-fatigue.tumblr.com/post/174160788866/i-just-caught-up-to-anonymousalchemist) by the incomparable questbedhead over on tumblr!
> 
> We can also be found on tumblr [@anonymousAlchemist](http://anonymousalchemist.tumblr.com) and [@marywhal](http://marywhal.tumblr.com)! Come say hello! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Posting once a week until complete! All artwork by anonymousAlchemist. Words by us both.
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, please leave a comment and kudos! ❤
> 
> You can find us both on tumblr [@anonymousAlchemist](http://anonymousalchemist.tumblr.com) and [@marywhal](http://marywhal.tumblr.com)!


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